He Can Overlook It
by BleedtoLoveHer
Summary: Peeta's thoughts during the reaping of the 73rd Hunger Games. Response to PromptsInPanem's Everlark Week on Tumblr.


**Author's Note**: This is a one-shot, submitted to PromptsInPanem's Everlark Week on Tumblr. The prompt reads:

**_School Days_**

_"For eleven years, Katniss and Peeta attended the same small school. They bumped into each other in the halls, listened to each other recite in English class__, and watched as their schoolmates were reaped._**_"_**

* * *

Elyse Mullins.

Sweet, mild-mannered, sunny Elyse Mullins.

She's sat beside him in musty, cinderblock lined classrooms since they were five years old. Over the years, they've been partnered up for more school projects than he can count. Just last month, they'd laughed over his inability to pronounce the word 'bituminous', which had resulted in that particular paragraph being hers to read during their presentation on the process of coal refinement. When the sentence came up, he'd bitten the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling as she'd stumbled over it almost as badly as he would have.

When school starts back in a little over a month, Shale Nelms will take the desk beside him. It's happened a few times in his classroom since he and his peers reached reaping age, but never has it hit so close to home for him. The teacher always moves everyone up a space to fill the absence of whatever student has been unlucky enough to have their named called and never return home to District 12.

She'll be another victim of the initial bloodbath; he's sure of it. Catching Shale's eye at the other end of the row of fifteen year olds, he wonders what it will be like to have to sit in the chair of a dead girl.

No, Elyse won't be making it back.

The Hunger Games is no place for someone like the tailor's daughter. No place for someone who's never had to fight for anything in her life. For someone who has never had the survival of others dependent on her very own.

There's not a doubt in his mind that if _her _name were to be called, _she_ would make it back.

When they were fourteen, he had accompanied Elyse to the Harvest Festival in town square. Her smile was easy to gain as he'd made several (unsuccessful) attempts at winning her a stuffed bear at the beanbag toss. He was surprised at how little his failure had wounded his pride, but knew deep down that there was only one girl that he would ever truly want to impress.

Elyse let him hold her hand anyway. The palm was smooth and soft and, though it felt nice, Peeta couldn't help but think that callouses that matched his own would probably feel better.

Holding _her _hand would just feel more than just nice. It would feel _right_.

A week after the festival, he had pressed his lips against the fair skinned, blonde haired girl's cheek after walking her home from school. She had smiled and her face had flushed a pink color all the way to her hairline. He thought of how pretty it made her look.

If he were able to make _her_ blush, though... Well, _she_ would probably look more radiant than the sun.

The afternoon that it happened, he certainly did not act the way that he supposed a teenaged boy who'd just had his first kiss should. He had snapped at his father while rolling out the dough needed for a cobbler that the florist's wife had ordered and almost socked his oldest brother in the jaw when he'd flung a dirty dish towel in Peeta's direction. Leif had muttered that it was a good thing that their mother wasn't there to see his pisspoor attitude.

He couldn't help himself, though.

It wasn't until after Elyse had pressed her lips to his underneath the old apple tree behind the bakery that he realized what he'd done. He remembered the way that_ she _had sat against it, rail thin arms closing around knobby knees, the night he'd purposely burned a loaf of the bakery's heartiest bread. The thoughts caused his mouth to go slack underneath the merchant girl's and she'd stepped away, excited and confused all at once.

Peeta was so angry at himself for tarnishing the spot that his only shared memory with _her_ had occurred.

Elyse had been understanding afterward. When he told her that maybe they should just be friends, she had nodded. Her bottom lip had wobbled just slightly and he felt awful. A week later he saw her smiling and batting her eyes at the butcher's son in the schoolyard during their lunch hour. Most boys wouldn't feel the same sense of relief at having a girl get over them so quickly, but he didn't mind so much.

He watches as Effie Trinkett's fingers dig into Elyse's shoulder before turning both of the reaped children in the direction of the justice building. The young girl's hand trembles at her side as she walks away and he thinks of the times he held it in his own.

The crowd starts to disperse and he scans it for _her_.

Gale Hawthorne is easy spot, a full head above most of the others, and _she's_ there beside him. He doesn't like the way that the taller boy seems to always be around these days, but right now, he can overlook it.

Because _she's_ still here.

Because there's an actual smile on _her_ lips and he still has the chance to hope that one day, maybe that smile will be directed at him.

And even though the sadness is there, the guilt that he feels is so much stronger. He'll never see his friend again and the first girl he ever kissed has just had her name called and is being lead away like a lamb to the slaughter. And he hates himself for it, but he can overlook this as well.

Because at least it wasn't Katniss Everdeen.


End file.
